


A Story of Censorship, Shitstorms, and Female-presenting Nipples

by donnarafiki, Jeldenil, OTPshipper98, Quicksilvermaid, Smittenwithdaydreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Anxiety too, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Female-presenting nipples, Financial Issues, Fred Weasley Lives, Gender Non-Conforming Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of past abuse, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Safehouses, There's some Panstoria mature content somewhere in here too, Tumblr Purge (17th December), Unresolved Sexual Tension, wanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnarafiki/pseuds/donnarafiki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeldenil/pseuds/Jeldenil, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/pseuds/Quicksilvermaid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smittenwithdaydreams/pseuds/Smittenwithdaydreams
Summary: The old Draco Malfoy wouldn't havedreamedof setting up a safehouse for misfit people, yet here he was. But that wasn't even the strangest part about his life now.No, the strangest part by far was this new Ministry crack-down on faulty media.Why the Ministry had decided that banning 'female-presenting nipples' was a sensible idea was beyond Draco. And why they'd banned his safe-house advertisements was even more of a mystery. He didn't have time to focus on that, though, because, stupid rules or not, his funds were running low and Christmas was just a few days away. How would he ever get enough money for presents if he couldn't even place an add?Why, with the help of a very annoying Harry Potter, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is a project that started as a protest against the Tumblr ban of the 17th of December 2018, but it got slightly bigger than that. I (Donna) wrote the first part, and 4 other brilliant authors helped me write the rest. It's not finished yet, but as we are 5 people there's no need to fear that we will abandon you, as one of us will always feel inspired soon enough. I hope you enjoy this read!

Draco sighed. Everything was such a mess now. What had started as a quite decent attempt to crack down on privacy invading gossip had turned into a full on censoring war. Nothing was allowed anymore.

No art about people because that could be insulting even if they were actually politically motivated cartoons. No unsolicited interviews which meant publishing the answer to a simple question now required three hours worth of paperwork. No shocking content lest the younger audience wouldn’t be able to stomach it and for some reason no _female presenting nipples_.

Which had led to the hilarious yet depressing result that Draco’s in-drag photoshoot from a Witch Weekly edition published last year was now banned.

It was all crazy stupid and it would be funny if it didn’t also mean that Draco’s safe house advertisements and folders were now officially illegal. He’d set up his home as a place of refuge for anyone who wanted to live by their own rules but couldn’t due to the people around them. It was something that might have saved him from being such a dumb arse back in the day.

He’d started it a little over five years ago after seeing the stupidly cheesy yet inspiring quote, _be the person you needed when you were a kid_. Well, he was being that person now, out and proud with his female presenting nipples and shocking content. But if the ministry continued to make rules like this there would be no one around to witness it.

And _that_ would be a real crime.

“Well good morning my dear female presenting nipple friend.” Astoria wandered into the kitchen and pulled him into a hug. She beamed at him despite how shit their current situation was. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did actually. Me and my female presenting nipples had a great night.” Draco chuckled into Astoria’s neck but then grew serious. “My morning though… Not so great.”

“Yeah, it’s a giant mess, isn’t it? Blaise is still sorting out the details but as far as I can see anyone who hands out our information leaflets after the seventeenth will get fined at best and might even face jail time. And we’re already low on funds as it is.”

“Theo better up his game in the vegetable garden then if we want to feed all our hungry mouths.” Draco tried to joke, but it was a lot less funny because they might actually have to rely on that. The house was paid off, but none of the staff members had access to their family money anymore and only Blaise had a paid job. A job he’d have to give up if he kept working this much for their safe house. The last thing they needed was for him to get a burn out.

Astoria nodded, all cheeriness gone from her face. “And we’ll have to skim on the Christmas presents this year.”

“No.” Draco’s reply was sharp and allowed no counter argument. “Our busiest time is Christmas because a lot of people come here to celebrate the holidays when they have nowhere else to go. We can’t skim on the one moment of the year when our guests can be themselves.”

“But we can’t make money appear out of nowhere either, Draco.” Astoria’s face grew hard and serious. Her brilliant no nonsense attitude was what had kept the financial side of the safe house afloat all these years. “I’m sure people will understand. It’s probably quite enough for them to have a safe space.”

“A safe space that goes with a fitting binder and their first pair of heels or lipstick or that one book they’ve wanted since forever.” Draco stepped away from Astoria and glared at her. “I’m not cutting on the Christmas present. I’ll sell a family heirloom if I have to but this is the one Malfoy Family tradition I’m going to keep.”

“Draco be realistic, please.” Astoria snapped, glaring right back. “The only sellable family heirloom that you still have is your bloody engagement ring, and if you sell that then you’ll forever give up on your ability to marry. We both know how that family magic works.”

“Well I don’t see how that’s a problem.” He stuck his chin up in order to hide how much that idea hurt. He’d be giving up on his lifelong dream of a fairytale ending. But if there was one thing the war had taught him, then it was that always choosing yourself first only got you misery and pain. “There’s no one out there who wants to marry me anyway. And even if there was, Christmas is more important to me.”

Astoria eyed him with skepticism. “Fine then. If that’s the truth, then sell the ring. But I don’t support this idea.”

“Whatever.” Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to making breakfast. He had more important things to do than worry about Astoria’s opinion of him and his choices. Because with Christmas right around the corner and family tensions at a year’s high, a lot of people would be looking for a way out.

And now he couldn’t even fucking advertise for that because of the ministry and their damned _female presenting nipples_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Marina here! These three parts were written by Jeldenil, Quicksilvermaid and me (not necessarily in that order!) Can you guess who wrote which part? ;) 
> 
> We hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas!

“How about this one?” Ron said, shoving a letter under Harry's nose.

Harry scanned it quickly. It was the usual request he got at this time of year—money to save the blast-ended skrewt or to buy new instruments for the Hogwarts toad choir or to advance the political campaign of some Minister or other.  
  
He sighed and chucked it on the pile of rejects. He'd started the _Lumos Foundation_ five years earlier so that he could make a difference with the money people kept shoving in his face, not so he could be drowned in tiny requests that didn't mean anything in the long run.  
  
He picked up a copy of the _Prophet_ and flicked through it idly, hoping something would jump out at him for the _Lumos_ Christmas giving tree.  
  
The headline shouted at him: ' _A better, more positive Media._ ' Harry snorted and skimmed through it, his disbelief growing as he read. He waved at Ron and Hermione to get their attention.  
  
“Listen to this: _Since its founding in 1883, the Prophet has always been a place for wide open, creative self-expression at the heart of community and culture. To borrow from our founder Nippalus Karp, we’re proud to have inspired a generation of artists, writers, creators, curators, and crusaders to redefine our culture and to help empower individuality._ ”  
  
He laughed out loud. “Have you ever read a bigger load of shit in your life?”  He kept reading down it, “What is this? It's talking about restricting free speech ... art ... female presenting nipples? What _the fuck_ is a female presenting nipple?”

Hermione reached across for the paper, glancing at the article. “That's the new restrictions the Ministry have put in place. You remember I was telling you? They're calling it The Purge.”  
  
She chucked the paper back on the desk and it fell open. “It's ridiculous and totally over the top. They're trying to address a very niche issue and instead of using a scalpel it's like they've taken the entire media system and just decided to light it on fire. They're going to be stopping people from handing out pamphlets on the street—”  
  
Harry dimly registered that Hermione was still speaking. His eyes were glued to the image on the page of the paper that had fallen open.

“Why is Malfoy selling his family ring?” He said suddenly, cutting Hermione off.

Ron looked over, “He what—he can't be. Those things are like ... sacred. No pureblood would sell their ring. Especially not a Malfoy.”  
  
Harry looked down at the piece of paper, at the image of the Malfoy crest and at Draco Malfoy's name and owl address.

“Harry,” Hermione began, censure in her voice.

Harry picked up the paper. “I wonder what he's up to,” he muttered, his full focus turning to the image in front of him.

He didn't hear the twin sighs Ron and Hermione gave at his words.

 

* * *

 

“So, he’s going to sell his engagement ring. To buy some gifts and food.”

“That seems to be the plan.”

Pansy huffed. “And then what?”

“I can hear you, you know.” Draco threw the piece of parchment into the bin without reading it through. His father had apparently learned some brand-new insults in Azkaban, and he wasn’t interested in knowing them.

“Oh, we know,” said Astoria. “That’s why we’re talking about you.”

“Draco, dear,” Pansy drawled. “Excuse the muggle expression, but _what the_ _hell_?”

Draco snickered, letting his head hang down as he leaned on the kitchen counter. “If there is any deity out there watching me, I’m sure they’ll send me to heaven for this, actually.”

“Nice try, but joking won’t prevent me from talking some sense into that pretty head of yours.” Pansy got up from the couch, grabbed their empty cups of tea and started towards the sink. “Look, I know you want to help those who are suffering, and I know what’s going through your head right now— _blah, blah_ , I need to think of more than just myself, my happiness is irrelevant, there are more important things at stake.” She feigned a yawn. “And let me tell you, as your best friend, that you are being stupid.”

Draco sighed despite himself. “Are you done?”

“No, I’m not.” Pansy stood before him, hands on her hips. “Even if you didn’t want to marry, which I know you do; even then, this would be a stupid idea. You will only get so much money for your ring, and once you’ve spent it, what happens next? You sell your house? Your body? Your bloody wand?”

“Technically, he wouldn’t be allowed to advertise it if he sold his body,” Astoria cut in. “His nipples are female presenting, after all.”

“You’re absolutely right. Thanks, love.” Pansy winked at Astoria, who blew a kiss at her. “So, tell me, dear. What exactly is the plan after you’ve spent the money you earn with the ring?”

Draco locked eyes with Pansy, defiant. He hadn’t thought about that, but he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. “We’ll figure that out in due time, I’m sure. Right now, all that matters is that those kids don’t spend their holidays in an environment that makes them wish they weren’t alive.”

“See,” Astoria mumbled. “I told you he was starting to sound an awful lot like Harry Potter.”

Pansy replied, but Draco wasn’t listening anymore.

 _Potter._ He’d been thinking about him lately, and he was fairly sure it had to do with the fact that he’d seen the git three times that week; twice in his favourite café in Diagon Alley, once in Gringotts, while he collected the papers that would allow him to sell the ring that had once belonged to his father.

The idiot had been staring at him. It had irked Draco to no end, and he was fairly sure he had sneered into his coffee once or twice as he fantasized about approaching Potter to taunt him, just like in old times.

Draco was a grown-up man now, though. He was well past all his teenage pettiness, which meant he shouldn’t feel the need to act like some sort of evil idiot every time he came across Potter; shouldn’t feel like he was committing a crime just for breathing.

And he most definitely shouldn’t fantasize about proving to Potter that he had become a better person.

“He’s not even listening to me, is he?” Pansy was still standing right in front of him, but she was facing Astoria. “I can’t believe it. One mention of Harry effing Potter, _one_ , and he’s drooling all over himself like a school kid.”

 

* * *

 

Diagon Alley was flooded with the usual pre-Christmas shoppers, and everywhere around him Harry could hear people discuss the latest Ministry decree like it was hot gossip. In fact, he couldn’t recall the public being this interested in policies since the war. It was a bit disturbing, really. He pushed his way through the masses with some difficulty, trying to ignore the continuous pleas for their Saviour to _do something about this._

“Harry! Have you heard?” A breathless Seamus Finnigan called from the Leaky Cauldron’s doorstep. “Dean’s going to go out of business—how are we supposed to live from my job alone?”  
  
Harry halted, frowning. He hadn’t really thought of that yet. Dean was making a living with his art, and most of it wasn’t exactly family friendly. In fact, the majority of his customers wanted nude and explicit artworks for their private chambers. It was his speciality.

“Damn, erm… tell him to stop by at mine later today. I’m sure Hermione and I will be able to think of some commissions he can do for us at least. And try Fred and George, too. In fact, I need to pass their shop anyway. Walk along with me.”

If he had Seamus for company, people might stop bothering him all the time.

At Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes at least business seemed to be booming as usual. The red-headed twins were zooming around in their shop, appraising their Christmas Classics, like the brawling balls—red and green baubles that shouted creative (but still ‘family friendly’) insults from the Christmas tree, singing string lights, and indoor snowballs. Another classic and usually a big hit. The naughty nativity—which displayed Mary, Joseph and the tree Muggle kings in rather… compromising positions, was now nowhere to be seen.

“Harry, our most prominent patron!” George slapped him on his back, then turned to Seamus. “Finnigan, my boy!”

“You two just _have_ to see our latest invention, it’s very up-to-date!”  Fred chimed in, dragging them to the small, cramped office in the back where the twins tested their new inventions. Harry wanted to protest that he was on his way elsewhere, that he had something important to investigate, but he suddenly found himself unable to speak, his mouth magically transforming.  
  
“Behold—the nipple-toe!” Fred grinned, pointing upwards to indicate a green-and-pink decoration that probably once looked like a leaf and berry. It now looked like a stabby green tit, there was no other way to describe it. Harry made a muffled sound and touched his face, feeling what much resembled a nipple where his mouth once was.

“Seamus, give him a kiss—so his nipple can tell us whether it’s male or female presenting,” George instructed, pushing a red-faced, madly giggling Seamus towards Harry. Harry rolled his eyes—it was all he could do—and endured a quick peck from his friend.

“Male!” The twins crowed when Harry’s face started to itch and apparently grew an impressive moustache. Another second later and he had his mouth back, just in time to give Fred and George a piece of his mind.

“Don’t let us keep you!” They laughed, and allowed him to leave their shop wondering what on earth they were thinking. It didn’t bode well for the Ministry, in any case. He smiled, shaking his head and hurried the last hundred meters or so to his destination. It was a narrow, unimpressive building on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn, and it didn’t advertise anything. Strange. It used to. Malfoy was definitely up to something.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then knocked. A worn-looking Slytherin girl he vaguely recognised as related to Daphne Greengrass answered the door.

“Potter?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Donnarafiki, Quicksilvermaid and Smittenwithdaydreams (again, not necessarily in that order! Kudos to you if you can guess who wrote what ^-^)
> 
> My username (OTPshipper98) appears as a chapter co-creator because I'm the one posting the chapter, but I didn't write any of these parts.

Astoria had been half-attentive to the familiar bickering Pansy and Draco had launched into upon his reentry to real life. Potter had always been a sensitive topic what with him being both Draco’s sworn enemy and mid-life crisis waiting to happen. Feeling it unnecessary to excuse herself, she simply drifted from the kitchen towards the entrance, wincing ever so slightly at the pitch rise in Draco’s tone as he declared for the sixth time that he was _not, in fact, drooling over that fucking prat._ Honestly, if he didn’t react so erruptively then Pansy would have nought to tease him with. Opening the door, Astoria pulled her shawl tighter together; the nipping breeze and Potter greeting her.

“Potter,” she stated, all thoughts colliding.

“Err, hi.” Astoria continued to stare Potter into an awkward silence, so unprepared to converse with him while her friends continued to argue at an alarming volume. Potter fidgeted, his hand consciously feeling his mouth as though he might have something smeared around it. Relief crossed his features and he looked past her, no doubt able to decipher just whose defensive shrills were dripping through the building. “I would ask if Malfoy is here…” a smirk met his eyes and Astoria suddenly remembered herself.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, somewhat crossly. Harry glanced around.

“Malfoy,” he replied.

“You’re doing Malfoy?” Harry spluttered at her deadpan question, his skin reddening as he practically choked on her words. “Relax, Potter.” How anybody thought this man desirable confounded her, no wonder Draco would rather hex someone’s bollocks off than admit his fancy; she probably would too.

“Can I, err, come in?”

“Yes you, _err_ , can.” Stepping back, she allowed Potter inside, closing the door behind him while he took in the decor with suspicious curiosity. “What brings you by?” Astoria tried to ask it in a breezy manner, hoping he might actually explain his presence. Potter, however, wasn’t listening to her now that he was within clear earshot of the kitchen drama.

“—maybe if you stopped yelling over me for five seconds—”

“—must you always bring the git up? Can’t I—”

“—just messing with you, Draco—”

Potter raised his eyebrows simultaneously as his gaze returned to Astoria.

“Just a moment,” she told him, and left him standing in the porchway. As soon as Potter could no longer see her, she broke into a jog before Pansy or Draco could say anything too damaging. Said squabblers were standing at the far side with their shoulders squared, Draco looked as though he could possibly spit venom. Unsure of how else to intervene, Astoria slammed the kitchen door to gain their attention. “Potter is in the foyer.”

Silence.

Then Pansy was smirking.

“Har fucking har,” Draco shouted, throwing his hands up in the air with as much dramatic flair as an actor as he stalked away from Pansy. “You’re both just so bloody hilarious today,” he sneered. “Meanwhile, I and countless others are worrying about more important matters.”

Astoria moved out of the way as Draco came at her, his intention to leave the room was clear. Well, if he didn’t believe her before; he was sure about to lose his voice. The kitchen door thumped as it was thrown open and Draco stormed out, muttering irritably to himself like a bloody lunatic. Pansy folded her arms in a sultry fashion as if she had known all along who would win this battle.

“Nicely done,” she congratulated but Astoria wasn’t about to pass on the opportunity to see Draco’s mid-hissy fit seizure. Grabbing Pansy’s arm, she towed the confused young woman with her until they were in sight of both Potter and Draco’s frozen form.

 

* * *

 

Harry paused as Malfoy stormed into the hallway, his earlier decisiveness deserting him. Now that he was face to face with Malfoy, his reasons for coming seemed ridiculous.

He stared at the other man, struck again by how much he had changed over the last few years. Malfoy was taller than he had been in school and his features were even more well-defined than Harry remembered—high cheekbones, flashing silver eyes ...  
  
Seeing Malfoy from a distance was somehow not the same as being in close proximity to himself.

Malfoy seemed to be stunned by his presence, a faint flush tinging his cheeks. But he recovered quickly.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” He spat.

Harry wracked his brain for some reason that didn't make him sound half-mad. He had just realised he'd come to Malfoy's house to—  
  
“Why are you selling your family ring?” He blurted out, and then bit his tongue and cursed mentally.

“My—” Malfoy looked startled for a moment but then his scowl returned. “None of your business, Potter. If that was all, you can see yourself out.”

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it after a moment.

“Yes. Right,” he mumbled turning for the door.  
  
“Wait,” came a voice from behind him and Harry turned to see Pansy Parkinson step forward. He realised she'd been standing in the doorway watching them and he flushed slightly as he realised how ridiculous he must seem.

“ _Draco_ is selling his ring to raise money for Christmas gifts for the people he supports—people who have been cast out by friends or family for being who they are.”  
  
Harry's eyes flicked from Pansy to Malfoy, who was making a frantic shushing gesture at her, a look of fury on his face.

Harry took a moment to digest what he'd just heard. _Malfoy was supporting people? He was doing it by selling family heirlooms?_  
  
He opened his mouth to ask—who knew what—when Malfoy stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him towards the door.

”Yes, thank you, Pansy. Potter doesn't need the sob story, I'm sure. He's far too important and busy for the likes of us. In fact, he was just leaving, weren't you, Potter?”  
  
At this, Malfoy pushed him the two steps towards the door and out on to the step. Harry turned to protest and the door slammed shut in his face. He distinctly heard the sound of the lock slam home.

 

* * *

 

“Why the hell did you have to tell him that?” Draco spun around and glared at Pansy before the echo of his door slam even had the chance to leave the room. “This is a _secret_ safe space, Pansy. We tell people who need it and Potter _clearly_ doesn’t need a fucking safe space. A mental hospital maybe, but not this.”

“A mental hospital? Really?” Pansy crossed her arms, looking very unimpressed by his temper tantrum. “That seems a bit hypocritical coming from the man who used to be so obsessed with him it went far beyond what muggles call stalking.”

“Yeah well we all know past me should have been and has been locked up in a mental hospital so argument lost.” Draco sneered, though he felt quite unhappy about winning when he saw Pansy’s face fall. He’d been banned to the muggle world for three years after the war and a lot of shit had gone down in that time that Pansy didn’t know about yet. The mental hospital wasn’t one of those, but she still blamed herself for not being there for him at the time. He sighed, and tried to push his anger down. “Look, Pansy, I set up this place for people who have nowhere else to go. Mostly people who are deep inside the pureblood community. Potter is anything but that, so he doesn’t need to know. We’re going to be at maximum capacity as it is around Christmas. I don’t want half the Weasley clan banging on my door when mummy didn’t give them a second helping of treacle tart, alright?”

“As much as I agree with your argument, Draco, I don’t agree with your conclusion.” Astoria interrupted before Pansy could reply. It was probably a good thing because Pansy did look like she could use a moment to breathe. “However much you might like or dislike him, Potter still has money and a hero complex. He could offer us a good price for your engagement ring knowing all this. And with this censorship ban in place, we at least know he can’t accidentally let something slip about this to the press and blow everything up.”

“I’m not selling my engagement ring to Potter.” He spat out the name like he used to and desperately tried to recall the old feeling of hatred that used to go with it. He didn’t succeed. _Damn_ Potter for growing up to be fit, even if he still was a stumbling idiot. “Not unless he has more money than I know about. This ring has been in my family for over a millennium. Word will be out soon enough, and we’ll get a much higher price. This kind of magic doesn’t come on the market all the often.”

“Because selling your engagement ring means ending your bloodline for good, yeah we know. But that’s not the reason you don’t want to sell it to Potter.” Pansy had clearly recovered and was now studying his face. “You don’t want to sell it to him because you can’t bear to see it in his hands without you giving it to him. You don’t want him to have it when it doesn’t come with an engagement to you.”

“Oh fuck off Pansy,” Draco spat as he pushed past her a little too harshly. “I do _not_ like Potter. And even if I did I’ve been through seven years worth of _hell_ , I’m well aware that fairytale endings don’t fucking exist.”

And with that, he ran upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, Jeldenil here. This chapter was written by Marina (OTPshipper98) and me. Enjoy!

Right. Harry stood outside the Slytherin safehouse, or what he’d always presumed to be some kind of sleazy hang-out for his snakey schoolmates. It wasn’t. Apparently. But what was it then? He looked at it, confused. It looked really unassuming, grey and narrow and outwardly reminding him a bit of Grimmauld Place, but more modern. Inside it had seemed warmer, busy and bright with more people living there than he’d have thought likely. But… poor. It was well-kept, but he’d seen the way the walls had needed paint, the rugs were worn beyond what magic could fix, and the inhabitants all looked tired and in need of a good meal or two.

Could it really be a safehouse? And if so, for whom? Besides Malfoy, nobody he recognised had been an actual Death Eater. Not even Parkinson. She’d said it was for people who got ‘cast out for who they were’, whatever that meant. Was it only for Slytherins, or could other shunned people find refuge there too? Did it matter?

Harry started to get an idea about what this year’s project would be. He knocked on the door again, determined to be let back in, but they were clearly ignoring him. Of course. Of course they would find it humiliating to accept his money. Malfoy had made that perfectly clear. There was no way he would let him back inside. So Harry would have to come up with some kind of sneaky secret Santa plan.

Perhaps he could buy Malfoy’s ring in disguise, and return it to him. That should work, right?

Excited, he pushed his way back home, eager to tell Ron and Hermione what he’d found out. They’d be happy, right?

They were not.

“Harry, no! You can’t do that! It’s not so simple. Tell him Ron,” Hermione exclaimed.

“Well… Do I have to?” Ron’s face looked slightly purple with something resembling constipation.

“Please Ron, do explain. It’s not like you two have been constantly bugging me to make a decision. I did. And now you’re telling me I can’t?”

“You can’t. Or… you can, but it’s going to be super awkward. When you buy that thing, you see, he’s essentially giving up on his chance to get wed. And that’s not something you can easily return to him. Not without marrying him.”

Harry boggled at Ron.

“That’s bollocks. You’re shitting me.”

“I’m afraid it’s not, Harry, it’s a Pureblood thing. Magical contract. You know magical contracts.” Hermione tried to sound patient, he could tell.

“Well, Pureblood magical contracts are bollocks. Barking mad. They’re...”

“Yes, Harry, it’s stupid, we know.”

“Is there a way out of it?”

He could practically see Hermione’s brain getting into gear.

“Maybe you could… no, wait, nevermind. That's a bad idea.”

“What is?” Harry asked.

Hermione frowned at the carpet, still deep in thought. “Forget about it. I'll come up with something else.”

“It can't possibly be worse than marrying Malfoy.”

“ _Nothing_ could be worse than marrying Malfoy,” Ron muttered. “Imagine that. He's probably the kind of guy who sleeps with cucumbers on his eyes and orders you to make him breakfast while he kills kittens as his morning workout routine.”

“That's what I would have thought up until a few hours ago, too,” said Harry. “But… he is selling his wedding ring to help other people, after all.”

“Shite. Hermione, tell Harry your idea before he realises he actually wants to marry Draco Malfoy!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, very funny.”

“Believe me, what came to my mind was way worse than marriage,” said Hermione. “See, there’s only one magical contract strong enough to counter the Pureblood Marriage one, and that is the Unbreakable Vow. That was my idea. But I'm sure you'd rather—”

Harry was already on his feet.

“So if he promises me—with an Unbreakable—that he'll marry the right person when he meets them, then everything—”

“Harry, no, that’s mad. Think about the complications! If Malfoy agreed to that, which I’m sure he wouldn’t, and the other person didn’t reciprocate the feelings, he would literally fall dead there and then!”

“Well… yeah. We’d have to give it a bit more thought. But I think it could work.”

Ron shook his head. “You’re thinking way too hard, mate. You too, ‘Mione. There’s a much simpler solution to all of this.”

“Which is?” Harry asked.

“Which is to talk to him, of course,” said Ron. “And before you tell me it didn’t work last time—yeah, I know. But that’s just because you went to his house uninvited and asked him a personal question in front of his friends. He probably thought you were just curious and suspicious of his motives—which, to his credit, you were.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Hermione cut in, “Harry should ask Malfoy to meet somewhere private, tell him that he cares about this safehouse of his, and that the _Lumos_ Foundation could help, and then… what? Offer to buy the ring? That doesn’t solve the magical contract problem.”

“Yes to all of that, but no, Harry shouldn’t offer to buy the ring. He should ask Malfoy what brought him to sell the ring. Surely something must have happened if they were managing their business fine up to this point, right? Perhaps there’s some other way Harry can invest the money to help Malfoy keep the safehouse going without having to sell his ring.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look.

“Do you think you can convince Malfoy to spend time with you?” She asked.

Harry smirked. “Oh, I know I do. I know what his favourite café is, and at what times he likes to go. I’ll make him an offer he can’t decline.”

“How do you—” Ron shook his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Just send him an owl asking to meet there. And try to act like you haven’t been stalking him, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very much appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

****Harry had bid Ron and Hermione goodbye that night with clear intentions, although his friends still weren’t quite so confident in his charismatic abilities—especially when it came to likes of Draco Malfoy. Nevertheless, Harry went straight to his living room coffee table and scribbled out a letter in grey ink that gave the impression of a led pencil.

 

_Malfoy._

_Please meet me at Notumamore, 4 o’clock._

_Don’t be such a stubborn git. I know I can help._

_Potter_

 

It wasn’t the eloquent plea Ron and Hermione had expected of him, but Harry knew Malfoy, he knew that any pretence would be scrutinised and mistrusted—more so than usual. Harry folded the parchment into an envelope, wrote Malfoy’s name on the front and summoned Kreacher.

“Take this to the corner of Knockturn Alley. It’s for Draco Malfoy,” Harry explained, holding the envelope out to be taken. Kreacher grumbled something about owl’s work as he hobbled over to snatch the note-come-letter out of Harry’s hand.

As soon as the miserable house elf was gone, Harry shrugged off his jacket and unlinked the cuffs of his shirt. The familiar gut-twisting tension he associated with Malfoy was making itself apparent as doubt settled in. _What if Malfoy didn't come?_ He’d go back to the safe house. _What if Malfoy didn’t let him in?_ He’d wait all day if he had to. _What if Malfoy did come but still rejected his help?_ Merlin, the blonde prat got under his skin.

Knowing he needed to eat, Harry hung his jacket up in the hall on route to the kitchen, only stopping to take the letter from Seamus out of his pocket. Dean had managed to get some commissions from Fred and George, so he would stop by Grimmauld tomorrow evening instead which boded well for Harry as the only thing he could think about was Malfoy and whatever he was up to. _Draco is selling his ring to raise money for Christmas gifts for the people he supports—people who have been cast out by friends or family for being who they are._ The pure act in itself was very unlike the Malfoy Harry had grown to dislike since their first meeting in Madam Malkin’s robe shop—what was it now? 14 years ago? It didn’t make any sense, and neither did his urgent need to help the sarcastic sod. Still, Malfoy or no Malfoy—Harry could sympathise with the people in need. It wasn’t like he had no experience in being unwelcome, especially by family.

Christmas had always been the worst time of year at Privet Drive. Harry was bombarded with chores to make sure the Dursleys had a perfect day; serving food he wasn’t allowed to eat; wrapping presents for everybody else; hanging stockings on the fireplace, one for everyone but him. The desire to fade away still haunted him through the holidays.

Sod Malfoy. Harry was going to help, even if it meant going through Pansy or Astoria; no one deserved to be outcasted, censored or threatened for being themselves—not at Christmas, not ever.  

 

* * *

 

The first thing Draco saw when he headed outside his bedroom the next morning was a piece of parchment on the floor. Someone must have slipped it under the door during the night. He cast a few spells on it from a distance—one could never trust anything that came from Knockturn Alley—then picked it up and sat on the sofa.

There were only two kids staying the night there at the moment, but they were probably not awake yet, so he lowered the volume of the radio before turning it on. He deposited his coffee mug on the small table and finally read the letter.

And then he read it again.

_What the fuck?_

He shook his head. No. No way. This was  _not_ happening to him.

Potter wanted to hang out with him.

_In his favourite café._

_… What the fuck?_

Pansy’s words from the previous day inevitably flooded back into his mind. _You don’t want Potter to have your ring when it doesn’t come with an engagement to you_. And oh, how he hated her for putting such a—a ridiculous idea into his mind. He hated Potter, too, for not leaving him alone already.

But mostly, Draco just hated his own feelings—hated the humiliation of having to sell his right to marry, and the knowledge that, if no one else contacted him soon, he'd have no choice but to accept whatever offer Potter was trying to make.

He was at Potter's mercy. And the worst part was, the feeling wasn't new.

He knew what Pansy and Astoria would say. That he needed to meet Potter and listen to what he had to say. With the first part he agreed; he was going to do as the git had said, _and_ he was going to make him pay for his coffee and doughnuts for calling him a ‘stubborn git’ (the _audacity_ ). But he wasn't going to listen to him.

He was going to make himself heard, once and for all.

The hours passed slowly until 4 pm. Draco didn't tell anyone about his dat—meeting, about his meeting with Potter. He merely told them he had to see someone, then excused himself with enough time to change into decent clothes before leaving. He wanted to feel confident, and brave, and so he put on his favourite pair of boots and his warm, fluffy hat that made his haircut look nice. He looked in the mirror and smiled to himself—but he couldn't ignore the little voice inside his head telling him something was missing. In an impulse, he grabbed the lipstick bar from his bedside table and expertly applied it before leaving the house.

Potter was late. The prick. Draco sat there seething and silently planning a murder as the contents of his mug disappeared sip by sip, until he was sure he'd lash out the moment he saw Potter.

Except he didn't. Because when Potter _finally_ ran towards him, looking all flustered and fluffy and _cute_ , the words died in his throat.

_Fuck._

“Sorry I’m late—something happened along the way and I couldn't make it. I'll order some chocolate, and—”

“That won't be necessary.” Draco had promptly decided he couldn't stay. He needed to get his words out and leave before the image of Potter in woolly clothes, with his ruffled hair and warm cheeks, ingrained itself into his mind. “I'm not interested in whatever it is you have to say. I came here to tell you that you need to leave me alone. You have no right to step into my life or my projects, and I swear, if you tell anyone about the safehouse I won't sleep until I—”

“I was a victim of abuse.”

“—find you and—” Draco spluttered. “W-what?”

 

* * *

 

He had not expected to blurt that out, at all. And by the looks of it Draco hadn’t either. He just sat there, eyes wide, mouth hanging open just a crack, looking utterly shocked. To his credit though, the man only needed five seconds to pull himself together and mould his expression back into something Harry could only call professional. It gave him a slight therapist-y vibe and he didn’t like that one bit. Though given the fact that Draco ran a safe house it made some sort of sense.

“I—I did not know that.” Draco visibly swallowed, and it was only then that Harry realised something. Malfoy was wearing lipstick. And quite daring, red lipstick at that. He was so distracted by it that it took another customer brushing past him before he realised he had yet to sit down. “That’s quite awful.”

“Yeah it is.” Harry had to use all his strength to stop his voice from shaking. Wording what happened in his past like that was never easy, no matter how much time had passed. “That’s not what I came to talk about here though. I mean, it’s one of the reasons why I’m interested in what you’re doing, but this meeting isn’t about me, or you actually. It’s about money and homeless people as far as I understand.”

“None of my friends are homeless,” Draco interrupted sharply, his intonation indicating that this was a sore point for him. “That’s the entire point of my house. Anyone who doesn’t feel welcome in their family home can stay with me for as long as they like and be welcome and safe.”

“That’s…” Harry trailed off, not sure how to phrase his feelings about that. _Amazing_ didn’t sound like enough, _surprising_ could be interpreted as rude and _wonderful_ felt like the wrong word. In the end, he paused so long Draco quite clearly got fed up and continued himself.

“Unexpected, yes I know. For the Draco that you know it definitely is, but I am hardly the same person as I used to be at Hogwarts. You wouldn’t be able to name a single fact about me even if I put a gun to your head.” Draco suddenly got quite red when he said that, making his cheeks match his lipstick. “Not that I would ever be violent, it’s just a saying.”

“You not being violent? I distinctly remember you punching me in fifth year, and you stomped on my face at the start of sixth year…” Harry mused, enjoying the way he could feel the two of them fall back into banter. It almost felt like they were back at Hogwarts again. “You’re not known to be a nice person, Draco.”

“Not to you I’m not. As I said, Potter, you don’t know a single thing about me.” The flush of embarrassment was soon replaced by a flush of anger. Harry realised with shock that his careless joke had been the equivalent of poking a sleeping dragon. Something no one should ever do, as he was about to find out.

“I was cast out into the muggle world completely unprepared for anything. It took years before I managed to find a job and good people who didn’t try to exploit me and when I did manage to crash on someone’s couch it was always offered to me by someone who barely had anything left to spare themselves.” Draco put his coffee cup down with a hard clang before getting up and glaring at Harry.

“I changed because I fucking lived on the muggle streets searching for food in a trash can. And it fucking sucks that you’ve been abused and I hate the fact that that happened to you but that gives you no right to come into my home with an attitude like this. Like you know me well enough to assume anything about what I’m doing. I put that fucking add out because I wanted money for something I won’t even explain to you because you clearly already made up your mind about everything. I put it out because _I_ need to be the one deciding where I spend the money on. For once in my life, I know what I’m doing and the last thing I need is for you to swoop in, trying to be the saviour with your money and boy hero status and muck everything all up. So stop fucking assuming anything about anything because you don’t understand it now and you probably never will. Stop inviting me to coffee places expecting a cosy chat after coming in half an hour late. It’s not what I’m here for. Either buy that stupid ring or don’t, but keep your nose out of my business.”

“Okay.” Harry’s mind was still very much processing everything he’d just heard, but his instincts to do good were excellent. “Okay I’ll buy your ring. Name your price and I can have the money transferred before tomorrow.”

He expected Draco to falter at that, thrown off by his probably quite unpredictable response, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead Draco drew his lips into a thin line, before answering in an almost detached voice, “I’ll have Astoria send you the bank paperwork and the price and sale details. Sign the check and the ring is yours.”

And with that, Draco left the shop.

Now it was Harry’s turn to gape at the other man in surprise, even long after he’d disappeared onto the streets. Because if what he’d said was true, and Harry didn’t doubt that for a second, then he really _didn’t_ know Draco Malfoy. Which was a terrifying thought. Harry only had a few constants in his life. Namely, Ron was his best friend, Hermione knew everything, Mrs Weasley was trying to give him diabetes and Draco Malfoy was a selfish git.

And the selfish part was rapidly turning out to be not true at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Jeldenil and Smitten! Happy New Year :)

Draco arrived back at his house in a deflated mood, thoroughly exhausted. How could Potter still take everything out of him? _By being a bloody git, that’s how._ _The audacity!_

He stood with his back resting against the door, his hand gripping the ring box in his pocket. A pang of sadness shuddered through him, raising bile at the back of his throat. There was no time for regret. Potter, for whatever ludicrous reason, wanted to buy his ring—probably just to fuck with him—so Draco would have to set the proper affairs in order. His jaw was clenched so hard that the aching spurred him into proper action, heading through to the kitchen in hopes of finding Astoria.

As predicted, she was sitting in the corner by the window; her knees tucked up underneath her as she nursed a cup of tea in one hand and a novel in the other.

“Potter is going to buy my ring,” he announced, taking it from his pocket and slamming it down on the countertop. “I need you to contact him with payment details.” Astoria rose, closing her book, and made her way over to Draco with a concerned gaze.

“You don’t have to do this, Draco,” she said quietly, not wanting to stir up an argument the way Pansy’s accusing tone sometimes did. “We’ll find another way.” Draco shook his head and sighed, his eyes fixated on the ring box.

“We don’t have time, we’ve exhausted all of our options.” He pulled away, his gaze torn. “I need you to deal with this.” Astoria frowned and was about to try dissuading him again. “We don’t have time,” Draco repeated, his tone sharp. “The first of our guests will be arriving in a few days. We need the money.”

“Give me a day,” Astoria pleaded. “If by this time tomorrow I still haven’t managed to find another way, I’ll write to Potter.” Draco’s eyes hardened at hearing Potter’s name. He was going to argue against Astoria’s request but then he was forced to hide a yawn behind his hand. He was exhausted.

“This is for you to deal with now,” he simply replied. “I’m going for a bath. If you see Pansy, send her up in an hour or so.”

 

* * *

 

Astoria would have told him she wasn’t his house-elf but didn’t. It was clear Draco wasn’t in a good place, and she didn’t blame him. She watched him leave, his eyes sadly falling on the ring box one last time. Tension squared her shoulders; she knew what she had to do—she’d known for a while now, but hope had kept her from following through. It was shit, but not as shit as Draco selling his ring. Astoria collected the box from the counter, her book from the chair, and her teacup from the table; she made her way to the top of the house.

The attic was her sanctuary. The horizontal slats of the roof were decorated with various bits of coloured tinsel, and the grey leather sofa housed a knitted blanket and two decor pillows she had made herself. Behind said sofa, there was a desk. In the cupboards, she would find receipts, expense and budgeting forms, and a square box that was practically flat.

The box was what she retrieved, and though her heart yearned to take the contents out, she couldn’t bear the thought of refreshing her memory before she sold it. Maybe she could buy it back from Potter one day, something Draco would never do.

Just as she was about to leave the house, both jewellery boxes in her bag, Pansy entered through the front door with a pint of milk in one hand and her keys in the other. “Where’re you off to?” She asked. Her eyes darted down to the bag when Astoria protectively put her hand over it.

“To speak with Potter about some jewellery,” she replied. “Draco’s upstairs, he wants to see you.”

Pansy wasn’t dense, she could tell something was up—something Astoria didn’t want to tell her. Usually, she would demand to know what was going on, but then Astoria didn’t often keep secrets—there must be a reason.

“He’s selling the ring then?” Pansy asked. She shrugged out of her jacket, swapping the milk between hands as she did. “He’s a bloody idiot sometimes.”

“He’s tired, Pans,” Astoria said sadly, “you know he feels responsible for every person who walks through these doors.” Pansy sighed loudly and scratched her cheek, her eyes hardening as she got caught up in her thoughts. “I have to go, Potter is waiting for me,” she lied.

“Right,” Pansy muttered. “I’ll see you later then.”

Astoria knew Pansy and Draco would no doubt get into another argument, but she couldn’t do damage control from two places at once. Without saying another word—for fear she might blurt out her plan—she left the house and hurried around the corner onto Diagon Alley. Potter would be at home, no doubt, and she had no idea where he lived. It would have been wiser to owl him before she’d left, but it no longer mattered; she would go through a third party.

 

* * *

 

Harry was frying steak on low heat when the doorbell went. He hoped Dean wasn’t early as Hermione and Ron had yet to arrive, and he was in the middle of making dinner for one. He transferred the pan to an unlit hob and headed down the narrow corridor to the front door. When he opened it, his eyes first went to Ron, who looked noticeably uncomfortable. His first thought was that he and Hermione were having a spat, but she wasn’t present. Instead, Astoria Greengrass was standing beside him with a stoic gaze. _Were all Slytherins able to do that?_ Harry was momentarily distracted by the thought of Snape teaching first years how to stare through people.

“Sorry mate, but I had a feeling you’d want to hear her out,” Ron said, and shrugged. Astoria pursed her lips, the only sign of emotion.

“I have a name,” she said with a sharp tone. “Are you going to invite us in?”

Harry looked between the both of them in confusion as he stepped back, giving Astoria space to enter first. Ron sent him a sheepish smile as he followed behind.

“‘Mione will be here later,” he said. “I had to leave George at the shop.”

“Is this about Malfoy?” Harry asked as Ron hung his coat up and kicked off his boots.

“When isn’t it?” Ron asked, muttering to himself. Harry turned to Astoria, who was clutching her bag while looking around with mild interest.

“Err—I was in the middle of making dinner. Would either of you like a drink?”

“I’m alright, mate,” Ron said, heading towards the kitchen. Astoria followed, leaving Harry to enter the kitchen last. “Steak. Nice.”

“I’d like a cup of tea,” Astoria told him, heading towards the table. She perched on a chair and crossed her knees, her hands resting atop her bag which lay on the table in front of her. Harry spun around, momentarily forgetting where his kettle was. Before he knew about Malfoy and his safe house, he would have been too self-conscious about the standard of tea he had, but given the entire situation, he doubted Astoria was about to complain. He made her a cup of tea in silence, turned off the stove, and put some biscuits on a plate before he sat down at the table opposite Astoria. Ron sat beside him, automatically reaching for the biscuits.

“What can I do—”

“Draco has reconsidered selling you his family ring,” Astoria said, interrupting. She placed her slender fingers around the mug, enjoying the heat. “I’m here to make you a different offer.” Harry’s brows conjoined in his confusion. “It’s no secret that we need money to support our friends this Christmas, and if you were anybody else we would have no doubt appealed to you for a donation. As it is, Draco would sooner—well, sell his only chance to marry—before asking for your help.”

“But you just said he’d changed his mind,” Harry said. _Was Malfoy going to let him buy it or not?_

Astoria looked lost for a moment and then her eyes refocused on her bag.

“He has,” she lied. “I’m not here on his behalf any longer now that his ring is no longer available. Instead, I came to ask if you would buy something else.”

Ron snorted. “So you can make off with more of Harry’s money?” He asked. Both Harry and Astoria could hear his thoughts of _typical Malfoy._ Astoria openly glared.

“That’s not what we think—what I think,” Harry told her quickly. “What have you brought?”

Astoria had half a mind to leave on principle, but that wouldn’t fix _their_ lack of money. She sniffed indignantly and pulled the square box from her bag, trying her utmost hardest not to show how difficult the ordeal was for her. She set it down in front of Harry, who waited a moment before lifting the top off.

Resting between a silk indent was an amber pendant on a gold chain.

“18th-century heirloom. It’s in peak condition and has been passed down through generations,” she told him, leaving out the fact that it was her family heirloom.

“Why would Malfoy need to sell his ring if he had this lying around?” Ron asked, clearly distrusting the motives behind Astoria’s presence. “And why not bring it himself?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Draco is very busy getting the house ready,” Astoria replied defensively. “Do you want to buy it or not?”

Harry looked it over, his thoughts mirroring Ron’s for a moment. _Why would Malfoy sell his ring if there was another option?_ Unless...it wasn’t his to sell.

“I’ll buy it. Name your price,” Harry replied. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep this between us.” 

Astoria closed her eyes briefly, her back straight and her face neutral despite the pain she felt inside upon selling her ancestral pendant.

“It’s going to cost you, Potter,” she said stiffly. She wasn’t parting with it if it wouldn’t at least help them through Christmas, New Year and another two to three months. “Nine thousand galleons.”

She watched Potter’s eyes widen and could see his throat working as he attempted to suppress a cough, or a protest—really, he wasn’t being subtle. But to his credit, he only nodded while Weasley got red and spluttered audibly.

“That’s a ridiculous price! Harry—” But Potter held up his hand and shushed him, smiling apologetically at Astoria.

“It’s my money to decide about. Do you have the paperwork?”

 

* * *

 

 

When she got back home, Astoria immediately went upstairs to the attic, not stopping to answer Draco or Pansy’s questions other than tapping a bag of galleons—the first part of the check she’d coined in Gringotts.

“I need to put the papers somewhere safe,” she managed, and then slammed the attic door shut behind her. Downstairs, she could hear Draco stomp to his own room, leaving Pansy to wonder who to tend to first, most likely.

Sighing, Astoria threw herself down on her sofa and pulled the blanket around her. She could feel a headache coming up and she pinched her nose. _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about what Mother would have said, don’t think about Daphne’s face when she finds out._

“Talk to me.” Pansy was there, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand.

“Please, Pans, I’m just tired.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Astoria,” Pansy frowned, her well-groomed eyebrows knitting together. “What did you do?”

“I made sure we’ll survive through the winter. And I had to spend time with Potter and Weasley.”

“Gross. But that’s not why you’re having a headache now, is it?”

“I don’t—”

“I told you to stop talking bollocks,” Pansy said sternly, moving so she sat on the sofa and lifting Astoria’s head in her lap.

“What is going on here, love?”

“Pans… don’t. Please. I got the money and I saved Draco’s ring. But I swear—he can’t know, okay?”

“Where is it?” Pansy’s eyes were sharp like a hawk’s, and Astoria gestured at her purse, sitting on the floor beside the sofa.

“Then what did you sell? Tori, don’t tell me it was your mother’s necklace.”

As tears started dripping down Astoria’s cheeks, Pansy grit her teeth and held her.


	7. Chapter 7

It was three days before Christmas day when Draco received a letter from Gringotts. The remainder of Potter’s money had been transferred to his vault.

The ring, as well as Draco’s right to marry, were officially Potter's.

Ignoring the pain that soared through his chest, Draco left for Diagon Alley first thing in the morning. It was Friday, and the kids would return from Hogwarts on Saturday, which meant they had one day to buy enough food, presents and logs of wood to keep everyone fed, happy and warm through the entirety of the holidays.

“We need to divide tasks,” Pansy said as soon as Draco arrived home. She was holding Astoria’s hand. “Theo said he'd buy the rest of the food as soon as he knew how much stuff he could bring home from the vegetable garden, which will hopefully be today. Draco, can you take care of all the presents? Astoria and I can take care of the wood, and I can tell Blaise to arrange the bedrooms.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. I know the kids better than anyone anyway.” And it was true—he'd already seen a few things on the shop fronts of Diagon Alley that had reminded him of the kids. “If you see him, tell Theo to not forget to buy gluten-free Christmas food for Meg, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pansy ushered him, gesturing towards the front door. “Off you go now. You have a lot of work to do.”

Draco squinted at her. She was acting suspiciously weird. When she just raised an eyebrow, Draco glanced at Astoria. The look on her face was… off. “What's up with you?” He asked her. “You're never this quiet unless something's terribly wrong.”

Astoria huffed, her expression dark. “The only thing that's terribly wrong here is your makeup, dear.”

Pansy snickered, but her hand twitched around Astoria's—a gesture Draco recognised as one of encouragement.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I'll find out eventually.” He grabbed his coat, tucked his ears properly under his hat and opened the front door. “See you tonight—make sure Blaise is around before you leave, just in case anyone arrives today.”

***

The ambience of Madame Malkin's always brought Draco childhood memories, even though he was still a regular customer. It was warm, organised, smart—just like Madam Malkin herself.

“Good morning, Draco, dear,” her voice sang behind him. “It's a pleasure to see you again!”

“Good morning,” he nodded at her, feeling a smile tugging at his lips. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know, here and there—but that's not important. How are the kids? Let me guess—you’re here to buy them some last-minute Christmas presents, yes?”

Draco’s smile widened. It was still a few days until Christmas, but of course she would think that was ‘last-minute’. She always took so much care of every single piece of clothing she designed, one had to order at least one month in advance to have a present finished in time for Christmas.

“I am,” he admitted. At the look of chastising on her face, he added, “Sorry for not coming earlier. We've had a bit of a financial problem this year, and—”

“Oh, dear, that's no excuse! You know perfectly well I don't need you to pay me straight away!”

“Please, Madam Malkin, I don't want to abuse—”

“Call me Mary, young man. And you could never abuse of my kindness. Anyone else, maybe, but not you. You're too good-natured for that.”

“Er, thank you,” Draco said through the lump on his throat. What had he ever done to deserve this woman's friendship?

“What can I do for you, then?”

He looked around them. The shop seemed to be empty, but he wasn’t willing to take any risks. “Could we go to the back room, please?”

“Of course, dear.” Madam Malkin strode towards the little door behind the counter and held it open for him. He sat down as she cast a _Muffliato_ around them, and he immediately relaxed. They had long ago signed a non-disclosure agreement, so the kids’ names were safe with her.

“Do you know Tiresias Slughorn?”

“Slughorn?” To her credit, she sounded just slightly surprised at the familiar name. “I do, yes. She’s a lovely girl, very quiet and studious. And she was here just last September—she’d outgrown her Hogwarts robes, so I had to take her measurements again. What did you want to buy for her?”

“A chest binder,” Draco said simply. “I know they’ve wanted to have one for a while now, and I’m worried they might start looking for homemade binding methods that could be bad for their health, so I need something that—”

“It will be the best material, of course! Merlin, I’m so glad I decided to expand my market section from just robes to all kinds of tailored—oh, but I’ve just realised—I’ve been misgendering this poor kid all along, haven’t I?”

She sounded so upset, Draco had to stand up to stop her from rummaging through the drawers in search for the right piece of fabric. “You haven’t,” he reassured her. “Tiresias goes by all pronouns, even if they prefer the neutral ones.”

“That’s good to know,” Madam Malkin answered, and Draco could sense the relief in her voice. He smiled reassuringly and settled back down while she chose a piece of firm, smooth elastic cotton and started to wrap it around a mannequin, which she then adjusted to match Tiresias’ size. “Is it their first binder?” She asked, and at Draco’s confirmation, she started to cut and stitch so blindingly fast that he couldn’t follow her hand movements. “I’ll write some instructions on its use in that case.”

Draco nodded, his thoughts drifting to the other items on his list.

“Would you have time for a ball gown for Ludwig?”

“Draco Malfoy, you know you don’t have to ask. What colour?”

“Yellow and black—like his Hogwarts House.”

***

Three hours and several heavy shopping bags later, he returned home. Getting the items he wanted to gift to his friends had cheered him up significantly, and he’d all but forgotten about Astoria’s quiet mood from earlier. Getting home to a dark and seemingly deserted house reminded him, however, and he quickly put his purchases away before checking all the rooms and calling out to his friends. At last, in the kitchen, he found Theo, so absorbed in his cooking that he hadn’t heard Draco return home.

“Where is everybody?” Draco asked.

“Blaise went out to get some new bed linens, he should be back any moment,” Theo said with a fond smile on his face as he peeled some potatoes. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Theo had too much of a soft spot for Blaise, it would never amount to anything.

“What about the girls?”

“Pansy had some ‘top secret business’, and Astoria needed to see her sister about something.”

“Hmmm.” Draco shook his head in confusion. Astoria going to see Daphne was suspicious. The two of them hardly spoke nowadays. Daphne got herself a nice conventional marriage to a dull Danish Pureblood named Jon Jensen—and although they hadn’t had a fall-out or anything like it, their lives were just too different. Something must be very important for her to go for a visit. He’d have to ask her about it once she got home.

“Right, if you’re all good here, I’ll go check if everything else is in order.”

“Alright. Oh—don’t enter the purple guest room. There was a girl at the door earlier, Blaise and I set her up in that room. Her name’s Joan—she’s probably sleeping now. Better leave her be for the time being.”

“Okay.” Draco nodded. It was about time the kids started to show up. It had taken longer than usual. He blamed the restrictions on advertising. But it was good to know some of them could still find their way. He’d have to find out more about this new girl soon, if only to buy her a present. He went about checking the other things. The girls had picked up enough wood to keep the fireplace going for a week. Blaise had almost finished doing the beds—and apparently ran out of acceptable linens.

He was about to return to the kitchen to offer Theo some help cooking dinner when the front door opened and Pansy entered with Tiresias in tow. Before he could even start to ask where the hell she’d been, Tiresias was already taking over the conversation, chatting endlessly about their day and the people they’d seen—causing Pansy to roll her eyes and Draco to nod and smile encouragingly.

“And then Mrs Smith said I looked _adorable_ , I’m not adorable, I’m badass. Right? And Apollo was chasing an escaped owl. It went into Obscurus—it was amazing. Oh, and Pansy, why were you talking to Mr Potter?”

Draco swiftly turned to his friend. “Were you? What on Earth for?” She’d better not been trying to get his ring back, or he’d swear—


	8. Chapter 8

****Harry woke in a light sweat, his left arm outstretched and shaking. It had been nearly three weeks since the last episode, and he’d foolishly began to hope they’d disappeared for good.

Hauling himself out of bed, he gripped his shaking limb to his chest and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

As per usual, his first batch of brownie mix ended up on the floor—but the second one made it to the oven. The rhythm of cleaning up as he baked set his mind right and, as he exercised his left arm with mediocre tasks, the shakes slowly let up. That, along with the delicious smell that filled the kitchen, allowed him to relax, and he tried to remember what it was that he’d been dreaming about. The only two things that came to mind were a looming feeling of anxiety and... and Malfoy. The prat had probably been attacking him with a curse if his usual nightmares were anything to go by.

Nursing a coffee, he looked over the newspaper on the table in front of him. Merlin, Christmas was merely days away. He idly wondered how things were going for Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins with the safehouse.

Harry sighed to himself. The ‘prat’ really wasn’t a prat anymore, was he? He’d turned out to be a pretty… hell, a _very_ decent man. Taking in stray kids, buying them gifts, and… well, and wearing red lipstick every other day, apparently. Clearly not what Harry would have expected during their Hogwarts years.

Not that he’d expected much of anything at the time. His life had been so… empty, back then. Dating Ginny, joining the Aurors—it had all felt like too much, too fast.

Apart from the pain that still took over his arm every so often, the accident at the Aurors really had changed his life for the better. It had forced him to quit his job, and thus he’d decided to fund the _Lumos_ Foundation. For the first time in a very long time, Harry had felt like he was in control over his life.

Once he was positive his arm wasn’t going to give him more trouble, he left for Diagon Alley. He spent the day buying Christmas presents for the few people for whom he didn’t have anything yet—Percy, Fleur, Hugo, Victoire. There was a strange kind of magic to shopping by himself in winter, and he arrived home that night feeling warm inside despite the weather. Fulfilled. Happy.

He changed into his pyjamas, heated some soup from the fridge and sat down to finish his day with a warm stomach too.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

He arranged his pyjamas as best he could, then opened the front door.

“Good evening, Potter.” It was Pansy Parkinson, no less. “May I come in, please?”

“Er—sure.”

“Thank you.”

Harry lingered beside her, not quite sure what to do with himself. She took off her scarf and coat, left them on the rack and walked into the kitchen.

When she didn’t say anything, but rather inspected Teddy’s old drawings on the walls, Harry felt the need to break the silence. “Do you want a brownie?”

Parkinson smiled, finally turning towards him. “Yes, please.”

They took their seats on the kitchen table. They ate silently, and Harry finished his soup while she helped herself to another brownie. He fidgeted, then cleared his throat. “So… what brings you here?”

Pansy swallowed. “We received the last payment today,” she said simply, as though she hadn’t been silent for almost ten minutes. “Astoria’s heirloom is now officially yours.”

“Astoria’s...” So the heirloom had belonged to _her_?

“Yes, Astoria’s. But now it’s yours,” Parkinson drawled. “And I want to make you an offer.”

Harry squinted, suspicious. “If you want to sell me another heirloom, I’ll have you know the _Lumos_ Foundation only makes one donation per—”

“This won’t cost you any extra money,” she cut him. “I’m here to buy Astoria’s heirloom. _This_ ”—she pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket—“is the price I’m willing to pay.”

Tucked inside the cloth was a beautiful silver bracelet. It seemed old, and its magic print was so strong Harry could almost feel it reaching out towards him. It was expensive—perhaps even more so than Astoria’s necklace.

“Why?” he asked.

“See, why Astoria decided to sell you her own heirloom instead of Draco’s is beyond me.” Parkinson deposited the bracelet on the table, then looked him in the eye. “But it’s making her miserable, and I don’t want that for my wife. So I’m selling you mine.”

Harry gaped for a moment. Astoria and Pansy were together, then? He’d kind of assumed she and Draco… but that was stupid, he now realised. “Won’t that make _you_ miserable?” He mumbled.

Pansy shrugged. “Not more than seeing Astoria suffer like this. She hasn’t been close to her family since we married, but she still has a family, after all—one she’d rather not lose for good. My parents, on the other hand, fucked off to America as soon as they were released from Azkaban. I’m sure their family heirloom is the last thing on their mind.”

“Okay…” Harry processed her words. “Okay, yeah, fine—I’ll buy your heirloom.” At the look of relief on her face, his determination grew stronger. He had one more question, though. “May I ask why you’re telling me all this?”

“Astonishing though it may sound, Potter… I trust you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco sat at the edge of the cushion, a pinched expression between his perfectly shaped eyebrows. Pansy’s words were still rampaging through his mind and his anger only magnified the injustice.

 _“It’s none of your business, Draco,”_ she’d told him, her gaze set so adminatenly that he didn’t question her desire for secrecy. Not while Tiresias was with them, in any case. Yet—and this is the part that irked him most—she still refused to disclose her involvement with Potter when he’d ask her in private, Tiresias soundly asleep. They had argued in hushed tones, not all of them quite so hushed, and then she’d had the nerve to storm upstairs to bed as if _he_ was in the wrong. Was this how quickly Potter had fucked up the foundations of his entire haven? Now his own friends were keeping secrets from him.

None of his business. Who did she think she was? If it was to do with his ring—which he knew it had to—then it definitely was his bloody business.

He gripped the cushion on either side of his legs and glared into the simmering glow of the fireplace. It was late, very late, so late, in fact, that you could call it early. He wasn’t able to sleep though, not with his home becoming an imbroglio of ‘don’t ask’ and silent conversations. All thanks to Potter. The impertinent fool just had to stick his saviour complex into everyone else's business, didn’t he? Mindless twit.

“Well then, fine,” he said aloud to only himself as if there’d been a conversation taking place. “If Pansy won’t tell me what they’re up to, I’ll have to find out myself.” He stood up, energised by his decision, and turned to see a wary gaze staring up at him. A jolt of panic shot through his chest at the surprise, and he had to smooth out his shirt just to recollect his composure.

The teenager, if he could assume that, continued to stare at him, and he briefly wondered just how long they’d been standing there.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, his tone softening, remembering what Theo had told him earlier. This must be Joan. Joan shook her head, her eyes glanced around the room before giving Draco a once over. “Can I get you anything?” She shook her head again.

Silence stretched on for a few seconds as they both waited for the other to speak, and then Draco sighed to himself, feeling the tiredness seeping through his earlier motivations. Potter would have to wait. “Come and sit down, I’ll get us some tea,” he said, moving back over to the couch.

Within minutes, he had regrown the fire and was pouring mugs of steaming liquid; Joan sitting mutely at his side with wandering eyes. She looked to take in everything in sight, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as whatever thoughts plagued her awake at such an hour.

Draco was not going to force her to speak despite the action plans in place. Pansy preferred to engage through doing, making whimsical crafts or cooking until bonds formed, and Draco had always envied the effortless way Astoria seemed to warm newcomers into conversation. But that wasn’t him. He preferred to offer space, time and no expectations. Not everybody that came to the house was looking for a shoulder to cry on, some just needed somewhere warm and dry to heal.

***

Daylight crept in above the curtain rails, rousing Draco from near-slumber to find himself alone. He sat up, confused. He hadn’t actually been asleep, had he? When had Joan left?

“Good, you’re awake,” Pansy’s voice said, hotly. Draco turned on the sofa to see her stood in the doorway, an apron around her waist. She looked far more rested than he felt, and her stony look reminded him of where they’d left off last night. “Joan, Astoria and I are in the kitchen should you wish to join us. There’ll be no more tantrums today, so if you can’t behave then I recommend excusing yourself.” The way she spoke down to him like a child riled up the stubbornness in him, and he was just about to ask her who she was talking to when Joan appeared at her side, covered in flour with a smile on her face. “We’re making shortbread,” Pansy said as Joan held out her palm, showcasing a star-shaped dough with red edible balls pressed in around the edges. Joan jerked her head to the side, a gesture down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“Sounds like fun,” he said. He wasn’t sure if it did or if he were humouring her, and he was far too tired to decipher his intent with Pansy still shooting cool daggers at him. “I need to get changed, I’ll be through shortly.” This was enough for Joan, who left them, heading back down the hallway to the kitchen.

“I mean it, Draco,” Pansy said and Draco rolled his eyes, putting his hands up in surrender.

“We’ll talk later,” he simply told her and headed upstairs. Whatever it was she and Potter were up to, it was obviously something she wouldn’t tell him; no matter just how much he demanded to know. That left only two other options; he could try and coax it out of Astoria or he could hex it out of Potter. The latter sounded much more enjoyable.

He changed into dark blue slacks and a white shirt, and chose a lilac lipstick to complete his look, matching it with the scarf he draped around his neck.

Astoria was singing when he entered, and he could tell instantly that whatever had been plaguing her mood was now resolved, and given Pansy’s secrecy—well, he could put two and two together. Joan was at the table, decorating variously shaped dough with sugar decorations. He decided to join her, and spare himself another dressing down from Pansy that he knew he couldn’t brush off again.

“You’re good at this,” Draco told Joan who shot him a curious look when he chose a candy cane shape to decorate. They sat in silence, Joan occasionally watching what he did and pointing to different decorations to use when he hesitated. Draco figured she would have told him everything he was doing wrong if she vocalised her conversation, but her reticent continued unspoken of.

It was nearly seven o’clock in the evening when Draco excused himself—his quest for information was no longer sated by Joan’s presence. He left her playing chess with Astoria, purposefully ignoring Pansy’s questioning looks as he readied himself to leave the house. Potter better have some bloody good answers or he was going to shave the prat’s eyebrows off.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was written by OTPShipper98

When he heard the doorbell ring, Harry immediately _knew_ it would be a Slytherin at the doorstep. Perhaps Zabini, earrings in hand and a story about his unrequited love for Pansy at the ready. He snorted at the thought as he strode toward the door. At least this time he wasn't in his pyjamas.

At the sight of Malfoy's furrowed frown and his lilac lips pulled into his characteristic scowl, Harry's heart did a little somersault in what he recognised as excitement.

“Er, good evening,” he said, ignoring the feeling. “What brings you—”

“Aren't you going to let me in? It's freezing, in case you haven't noticed,” Malfoy snapped.

Harry rolled his eyes but stepped to the side nonetheless. “Of course. Come in.” In a lower voice, he added, “Prat.”

Malfoy left a trail of snow as he stormed into the living, and Harry followed him, amused. Perhaps he should've felt annoyed, or mad, or hell, _wary_ that an angry Malfoy was in his house, but for some reason, he was just... curious. He thought about the wave of Slytherins that had crashed into his life in the past few days, but again, he felt nothing but fondness and... well, and a bit of concern for their well-being.

"So..." He started.

Malfoy's cheeks reddened ever so slightly. He seemed to be shocked by Harry's Christmas decorations—the presents, already stacked under the tree; the snowmen figures standing in between his pictures with the Weasleys. Harry couldn't blame him; Grimmauld really didn't look anything like it had when the Black family owned it.

Malfoy's scowl deepened as he raised his chin at Harry, arms crossed over his chest.

"Pansy talked to you yesterday. I know, so don't even try to deny it."

"I wasn't going to—"

"I want to know why."

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Which means she hasn’t told you.”

Malfoy's hand darted to his wand holster. The motion seemed almost automatic, but it set off every alarm in Harry's brain, making his muscles tense and his breathing quicken.

He forced himself to breathe deeply into his belly. He wasn't having an anxiety attack. Not in front of Malfoy.

Meanwhile, Malfoy scowled. “She may have not provided me with the details. But you”—he pointed an accusing finger at Harry, unaware of his struggle—“are going to do that.”

“You wish,” Harry muttered to himself. After a second, he made up his mind. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. You're going to take off your coat and have a seat. I’ll make us some tea, and we can have a friendly conversation and behave like the grown-ups we are.”

Malfoy scoffed. “You mean like you did when you followed me around and stalked me at Notumamore?”

A smile pulled at Harry’s lips despite his efforts. “Yeah, exactly like that,” he smirked, the feeling of anxiety finally leaving him. “Except this time we get to sit at the same table.”

Malfoy very visibly tried not to smile. “Whatever,” he muttered. He took off his scarf and coat, and left the room walking with an air of superiority. “You’d better not poison me with that tea, or I’m going to...” He rambled on, his voice echoing between the corridor walls.

Harry scoffed to himself. “Sure, Malfoy,” he murmured.

***

“Answers, Potter. I came here for answers, not to have some friendly chit chat with you. I do have more important things to do with my time, you know?”

Harry sipped his tea. “Like take care of strays, yeah, I know. I’m just trying to—”

“Don't call them that,” Malfoy cut in. “They're not ‘strays’. They're _people_. And they're my friends.”

“Okay.” Harry was starting to doubt he'd be able to help Malfoy's cause without going mad. “Sorry. I won't call them that again. As I was saying, I'm only trying to get to know you. You want answers, don't you? Well, that's the deal I'm willing to make.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Aren't I supposed to be the Slytherin here? And what makes you think you have any right to get to know me?”

“I don't think I have a—for Merlin’s sake, I'm only trying to be friends with you! Like normal people do! Jeez, you're exhausting.”

Friends. He really had said that word out loud, hadn't he? Well, he didn't regret it. Ever since he'd realised he didn't know Malfoy anymore, he'd been feeling… off-balance.

“Fine,” Malfoy snapped. “Just—ask whatever you want to know.”

Oh, but Harry wanted to know so many things. _Why did you decide to create a safehouse? Who are you now? What are the things that make you smile? When did you decide to start using lipstick?_

“Why did you need to sell your ring?”

The mention of the Malfoy heirloom seemed to rile him up, and a scarlet flush quickly spread over Malfoy's cheeks and neck. He gripped his tea mug with both hands, his jaw setting.

When his gaze met Harry's, he was surprised to find a spark of hurt on Malfoy's eyes. Shite. He regretted asking.

But Malfoy was already answering.

“It's because of the Ministry, if you must know. Which, of course, you must—Merlin forgive the almighty Harry Potter be deprived of something he wants.” He closed his eyes, sighed, and opened them again. “I'm—sorry. I'm not—this is not who I am. I decided not to be cruel a long time ago. It's just a sensitive topic.”

“S'okay,” Harry murmured. “I understand.”

“No, Potter, you really don't,” said Malfoy. “You have no idea what it means to be seen as a monster—to think yourself a monster—and to leave all that behind and actually better yourself. To dedicate your life to redeeming your past mistakes so you can look in the mirror and feel proud of the person you've become—someone who helps those who are vulnerable. Those who've been rejected, and who would find themselves alone like you once did if it weren't for you—only to be mocked by some stupid Ministry jerk who has decided advertising your safehouse should be illegal. Along with your damn female-presenting nipples, of all things. You wanted to know who I am, Potter? Well, that is who I am. A gender non-conforming idiot whose efforts to become a better person have been outlawed.” He breathed deeply, and then, almost as an afterthought, he muttered, “And that is why I had to sell my ring.”

The silence that followed felt deafening and heavy.

Harry hadn't been expecting that. Some bantering, sure—getting to know each other, hopefully. But this was just… wow. For a moment he was dumbfounded.

“I—I really wish I didn't have to say this, but—” he stuttered. “Pansy… she kind of made me promise I wouldn't tell you anything. Crap. I shouldn't have—sorry. I feel awful now.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Jeldenil and Smittenwithdaydreams :3

“Potter.” Malfoy didn’t sound amused. In fact, Harry could sense his magic crackling around him, as he forcefully tried to push his frustration down. It made Harry’s heart hammer in his chest, anxiety threatening to take over once more. Malfoy’s expression strangely reminded him of Aunt Petunia, when she was particularly unimpressed with him.    
  
Feeling an overwhelming need to keep apologising, he rambled on.

“I—Please, Malfoy, I know I fucked up, I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry. But I can’t—I’m sorry, please don’t be angry with me. I shouldn’t have said—” 

Malfoy gave him an odd look, the anger slowly dissipating from his face and getting replaced by something between confusion, guilt, and—was that recognition?

“Potter, calm your tits. I’m not going to harm you, alright? I’m not. It’s not you I’m angry with, it’s the Ministry. It would have been nice to know what you and Pansy talked about, though, and you did bait me. But you don’t have to get so worked up about it.” 

Deep inside, Harry realised what an effort it must be for Malfoy to say he wasn’t angry with him, but right now, he wasn’t able to focus on anything else than his brain refusing to accept the threat was gone, that it hadn’t been there to begin with. He took a few deep breaths until his pulse settled somewhat and the clot in his throat disappeared. Not knowing what to do with himself, he got up and paced around, trying to think of something, anything to say.

“Right—I… what was that about female-presenting nipples?” He blurted out stupidly before he could stop himself. Malfoy huffed. 

“My Witch Weekly shoot from last year got banned. Which sucks, because now I won’t get the monthly royalties which used to help keep us afloat.” 

“Your Witch Weekly shoot?” Harry suddenly felt a little hot under the collar. 

“I see you don’t have a subscription then. Well, you won’t miss out anymore—Ministry Policies.” Malfoy rolled his eyes and got up too. “If that was all, Potter, I must get going. I’ll tell Pansy you kept your promise.”    
  
***   
  
As soon as Malfoy had left and he had finally managed to stop feeling like he was suffocating, Harry floo-called Luna to inquire about the mentioned Witch Weekly photoshoot. 

“Oh, but that one is quite illegal now, Harry, I’m sorry,” she said in that understanding voice of hers that always managed to make him feel better even if she was giving him bad news. 

“I need it, Luna. I don’t care how. It’s for—a good cause. I’m supporting him.” Technically it wasn’t a lie. She smiled at him, a knowing look in her eyes.

“Of course, Harry. I’ll see what I can do. You came to the right person.”    
  
He waited impatiently, pacing around and rubbing his wrists, but if there was anyone who could get their hands on a copy, it’d be Luna. Just an hour later, he got her owl, and he unwrapped the rolled up magazine carefully. 

What he saw took his breath away in a completely different way. There was Malfoy, wearing soft pink lip gloss and matching sheer lingerie, his nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric. His pale body was covered in glitter as he stretched out on a luxurious divan. 

The shoot was accompanied by an interview about his work, his life, his gender identity and sexuality, and Harry tried his best to read it. If only the pictures weren’t so damn distracting. His favourite—wait, no, the one that was most suspicious—was the first one, what with the divan and the way Malfoy rolled over on top of it. There was another one of just his torso, and Malfoy running his hand up and down over it. Harry stared at that one quite a bit too.  Oh bugger.

He took the magazine to his room and opened his fly, feeling his face heat up as he fondled himself while looking at Malfoy and his damned female-presenting nipples. He wished he could reach inside the magazine and touch them. No, he didn’t want that. No, not at all. 

If he wasn’t mistaken, picture-Malfoy gave him deliberately coy looks, and his nipples looked perky enough to poke holes in his top. Harry’s cock gave a little jump in response when the image looped and Malfoy rolled over, wiggling his impossibly round arse in thin frilly knickers.    
  
Casting a quick  _ Impervious _ on the magazine, Harry started to thrust into his fist, wishing he could see Malfoy’s cock—but the image did nothing but tease. Malfoy had his hand over it or rolled over, winking at the viewer. 

“Bloody  _ wanker,” _ Harry whispered heatedly, ignoring the fact he was the one wanking. Fuck. Malfoy had no right to be so beautiful, so enticing. It was unfair. He must be up to something. With a groan, Harry spilt over his hand, the image of Malfoy in sheer pink lingerie dancing before his eyes. Merlin.   
  
He was truly and utterly fucked now, wasn’t he? 

 

* * *

 

Pansy raised her brows to the edge of her fringe and her lips twisted into a smirk as she watched her wife sway in the centre of the room, Astoria’s hips knowing exactly what they did to her. Hands lightly palmed over her neck, moving in unison, and drawing attention to the curves of her collarbones. Astoria’s eyes were closed, her head tilted back to reveal the slope of her neck, pale and oh so inviting. Her lips were deliciously red, thanks to the wine they’d been sampling, caught between teeth and run down occasionally with the tip of her tongue. Lensoren was playing on the copper phonograph in the corner, hitching ever so slightly due to well-worness, and candles lit across the shelves. 

“You’re magnificent,” Pansy murmured, and her gaze followed Astoria’s hands which travelled in tempo down across her breasts and navel, her arms crossing over so that when she lifted the hem of her jumper; all she had to do was raise her arms to peel it off. 

“Aren’t you going to help?” Astoria asked, letting the jumper slide from her grasp to the floor and then sweeping it aside with her foot as she turned, her body still swaying from side to side to side to side. 

Pansy rose and crossed the distance, her vacant hand sliding across the bare skin of Astoria’s waist, evoking a quiet gasp. “Cold,” she whispered but allowed Pansy to trail her hand around to her navel, and once Pansy’s body was pressed against her back, she rested her head back against her shoulder. In her other hand, Pansy was still gripping her glass of wine, and lifted it to Astoria’s lips for her to finish. 

“Are you still upset with me?” Pansy asked, knowing full well that she’d been—for the most part—forgiven. Nevertheless, she wanted to hear it. 

Astoria swallowed obediently, a stray bead of wine trickled down the side of her lip. The wine glass was dropped to the jumper and ignored as it rolled away, still in one piece as predicted. 

“A little,” Astoria replied and closed her eyes. Her hands found both of Pansy’s and she lifted them to cup her breasts over the lace of her bra, her hips moving once more causing light friction between her bum and Pansy’s lower abdomen. 

“Will you let me make it up to you?” Pansy gently squeezed her breasts and then pulled away every so slightly in order to kiss the back of Astoria’s shoulder. 

“You can try.” 

Pansy smiled into her kisses, trailing them up to the curve of Astoria’s neck where she nipped with her teeth. She was always up for a challenge, especially when it played to her talents. Turning Astoria around in her arms, Pansy brought her hands up to her neck and captured lips in hers, earning a content moan that she vowed would be far more feral within the next half hour—after a bit of begging, of course. Astoria, ever impatient to be tongue-fucked when she was in the mood, shuffled and kicked off her tights in a hasty and somewhat obtrusive fashion; picking up the urgency. Pansy tugged off her skirt in one movement and was already backing Astoria up against a vanity dresser when a knock at the door broke her concentration, saving Astoria’s neck from deeper bruising.

“Don’t,” Astoria pleaded, her head against the mirror. Her sapphire gaze was intoxicating, and if they had been anywhere else, Pansy would have thrown caution to the wind just to taste her desire. But they were here at home, a home they shared with various other people, most of those who trusted in their help. 

“I’ll be quick,” she promised, and pressed a kiss to Astoria’s pouty lips. Leaving the room, she daren’t look back at her practically naked wife, knowing it would take less than a minute for Astoria to take matters into her own hands.  _ This better be fucking important.  _

Looking partly irked, Draco stood opposite her bedroom door with his arms crossed and his backside resting against the bannister. Pansy had half a mind to immediately turn around, but the thoughtful look on her friend’s face concerned her. Where had he been? 

“I went to see Potter,” Draco told her, glancing at the unkept way her clothes sat and then looking away, no doubt aware of what he’d interrupted. Pansy stood silently, wondering if Potter had ratted her out. No, Draco was far too calm for that. “You’ll be glad to know he kept whatever love affair you’ve been having a secret.” 

Pansy snorted. 

“He wishes,” she muttered. “What do you want, Draco? I’d like to get back to my wife.” 

“Potter—he wants to be friends,” Draco spluttered, and rubbed the back of his neck with a bewildered look on his face. Pansy set a stern gaze on him. 

“That’s nice,” she said, a little bitterly. “Have fun throwing tea parties for Potter, I’m busy.” She backed away, ready to slam the door in his face for definite when he reached out to grab her arm. 

“Please,” he said, and she couldn’t help gaping a little. “My ring. You—was going to see Potter about my ring?” 

Guilt blossomed quicker than a hex in Pansy’s gut, and she desperately wanted to tell Draco the truth, but he wouldn’t understand the reasoning, he would fight it, throw a Malfoy sized tantrum...and she’d promised Astoria. Pansy’s stoic expression gave nothing away as she shook her head, and Draco looked both relieved and disappointed. 

“Alright,” he simply accepted, and released her arm after a gentle apologetic squeeze. She watched him glide away to his own room and let out a sigh when he disappeared from sight, unsure as to whether she’d done the right thing. Back inside her bedroom with the door locked, she made her way towards the bed Astoria was now laying in the middle of, one hand on her bare breast, the other moving rhythmically between her thighs. As she caught sight of Pansy, she stopped and propped herself up with her elbows. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, it can definitely wait,” Pansy said, stepping on the back of her shoe with the other foot. Astoria grinned and fell back, resting her arms behind her head.

 

* * *

Annoyed and more than a little confused, Draco retreated to his room, only to discover he hadn’t a clue as for what to do once he was there. He sat down on his bed, his head in his hands and his eyes shut, trying to get a grip on his jumbled thoughts. Potter. His ring. Pansy. Astoria? Bugger it all. He needed to do something. To occupy himself with something, anything to take his mind off of the Ministry-induced mess in his mind. The house. His friends. The new girl. Tiresias. His priorities.

He got up and looked in his mirror. He looked as wild and disturbed as he felt, his hair sticking out in all directions from having run his hands through it frantically. His eyes looked wide and unfocused. His lipstick was smudged from rubbing his face. Right. This wouldn’t do. Muttering a few curse words under his breath, Draco retreated to his shower. He needed to practice some self-care before he’d be able to care for anybody else. 

The scalding hot water helped relax his muscles, which he’d been unconsciously tensing for days. As he washed his hair with his favourite blood-orange scented shampoo, Draco felt his mind clear up. He tilted his head back and let the water cascade down on his face, massaging his skin with its relentless patter. And if a few tears slipped down from his eyes, nobody would be the wiser. The stress and chaos of the past few days were taking its toll, and Draco realised he was exhausted. 

He rinsed his hair and washed his body, then turned the water off and grabbed a large, fluffy towel. He dried quickly and grabbed some caffeine cannonballs from his cabinet. He knew it wasn’t wise, but he couldn’t afford taking naps in the middle of the day. There was still so much to be done. He downed three of them with some water and felt the rush of artificial energy clear his head and quicken his heart rate. 

Reminding himself that it was just for this once and he couldn’t afford to get dependant on the pills, Draco got dressed and combed his hair. There. Much better. 

***

“Hi Draco,” Tiresias waved at him from the kitchen table. They were wearing a bright, flowered dress that Draco thought was better suited for summer days, and red, thigh high boots. Joan sat on one of the kitchen chairs, staring at the energetic persona, looking half-amused and half-intimidated. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Draco asked, and internally scolded himself for sounding like his grandmother. 

“I was, but now I’m in the kitchen and it’s much warmer here,” Tiresias grinned. “Joan and I were going to make some decorations. Want to help us?” 

There was a basket full of mistletoe, another full of ribbons, and a third one filled with pine branches. 

‘Where did those come from?” He didn’t remember ordering them or telling one of the others to get them. Joan raised her hand and smiled quietly. “You got them?”

She nodded. 

“I told her you wouldn’t let any of us use our own money for the house, but she insisted,” Tiresias shrugged. Draco bit his lip. Alright. He’d have to discreetly reimburse her later, when she wouldn’t remember.

“Well, show me how it’s done, then.” 

He sat down on a chair next to Joan, and her eyes lit up in what could only be delight. She took a pine branch and threaded a silver ribbon through it, then tapped it with her wand to make it grow small, sparkling cones. 

“That’s some impressive magic, Joan. I’m not sure I can reproduce that,” Draco said as he took his own branch, feeling accomplished when she made a happy sound. Her straight, dark hair and pale skin reminded him of his late godfather. Perhaps she was related to another branch of his Pureblood family. He considered asking her—but later, when she’d gotten fully used to him and the house. 

Tiresias was making one of their trademark chaotic mistletoe-hangers, combining the leaves and berries with a rainbow of ribbons and tiny bells in all colours while humming a strange medley of Christmas songs and Weird Sisters songs. 

It was as peaceful as it’d be in Theo’s absence, while he was tending to the vegetable garden. It was winter season now, and most of the patches had to be cleared, with only a few still in use for things like winter spinach and garlic, and tomatoes in the small greenhouse he’d installed. Theo was a genius with the soil and wouldn’t let anyone help him; he said the magic of the ground was too attuned to him and it would be potentially disastrous if anyone else touched it. Draco loved watching him work when he had the time. It was hypnotic to see him charm the soil and listen to him sing to the plants. But then again, it was always rewarding to watch someone do things they loved. 

“Draco?” Tiresias nudged him, and he realised he’d been zoning out despite the cannonballs. Frowning, he looked at the branch he’d just completely ruined, the red and silver ribbons all tangled up and most needles having fallen out. 

“Oh dear. I don’t think this is my strongest suit. I better go do something else. Will you two be alright without me?” 

Joan nodded and Tiresias told him to ‘just shove off’, making him chuckle. 

“Fine. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” 

There were still a ton of Christmas cards to be written and sent to previous inhabitants of the house, inviting them for the yearly dinner. Hopefully, lots of them would show up and allow him to spoil them. It was a tradition, after all, and Malfoys cherished tradition.    


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated<3


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